


The Young Lady That Fell in the Hudson

by Evian_99



Series: The Captain and the Goddess [1]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: But at least Loki meet a cute boy with it, Cute and awkward Steve, F/M, Female Loki (Marvel), Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Swimming in the Hudson in October probably isn't the smartest idea
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-10
Updated: 2020-10-10
Packaged: 2021-03-07 17:01:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,449
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26931055
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Evian_99/pseuds/Evian_99
Summary: Pre-Captain America, Steve Rogers is a sickly child who’s left with improbable dreams after his only friend leaves to join the war efforts.That is until one dark October night when he saves a young lady from a sailor’s grave. They get talking and he finds himself attracted by the way she doesn’t look at him in pity, just as she does by the way he doesn’t enquire about her baby’s obvious lack of father and the missing wedding band around her finger.
Relationships: Loki/Steve Rogers
Series: The Captain and the Goddess [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1965058
Comments: 10
Kudos: 100





	The Young Lady That Fell in the Hudson

Loki watches how raindrops spat against the window with a floaty feeling of detachment. Her whole being here feels unreal, her mind struggling to process the fact that she has managed to get away. Despite having been here only two weeks, she has been convinced that New York is everything Idavoll is not. The city is dirty, grey, and loud instead of shiny, golden, and silent. Its people are so much more vibrant than the stagnant Æsir.

They intrigue her, but she isn’t confident enough in her cloaking ability to leave the apartment. Cradled in her arms, her baby boy is suckling from her breast. She feels guilty for not correcting Vivian’s assumption that her ‘husband’ has been killed in the war, sacrificing his life so that she and her child can flee, but the fierce protectiveness of the woman had been exactly what she needed—and still needs.

The other residents in the building, mainly elderly people, have been beyond welcoming. It is child’s play to garner sympathy as a traumatised and displaced widow, which, to be fair, she partially is—except that her child has been born out of that dreaded wedlock and she has burned any bridges with her family she hadn’t already destroyed.

Sitting still and being idle isn’t something she’s good at. Her desire for a little chaos is burning hot inside of her; magic tingling to cause a little light-hearted havoc. Also considering that Jörmungandr is growing like a weed and in desperate need of new clothes, and it might just be about time.

‘Lady Hamilton?’ she asks, turning to face the person entering the apartment. When she sees there is a young man lugging a box of groceries, her eyes widen, and she quickly flicks her hair to cover herself. It was an awkward lesson to learn that the people here are a lot more prudish about nakedness than her former home. 

Loki doesn’t understand the shame in feeding a child for others to see, but she doesn’t want to offend the people who so kindly took her in. ‘My apologies,’ she says, voice demure, ‘I didn’t realise you weren’t alone.’ She takes deep pleasure in the beetroot colour the boy has turned. 

With an exclamation of shock and many oh, my’s a flustered Vivian slaps her hands in front of the boy’s eyes. ‘Turn around!’ Checking backwards whether he is truly not peeking, she scurries towards her with her scarf in hand. ‘Come dear, let me help you.’

With a soft smile she presses a kiss on top of Jör’s face, wordlessly handing him over. Pulling her dress back in place, it is with a hint of laughter that she says: ‘You can turn around now, I’m all decent.’

It’s cute how the boy first peeks over his shoulder at Vivian to check whether it truly is alright before turning to face her. His cheeks are still red, and he doesn’t seem to know what to say.

Leaving him to dangle for a long second, Loki eventually takes pity on him. She stands up, hesitating how to introduce herself. The rules of etiquette here are so vastly different from Idavoll. She doesn’t want to make a mistake.

Now with her as the one being awkward, she stupidly stands there. ‘My name is Lífdís,’ she settles on, pausing, ‘Who are you?’

His voice is surprisingly deep when he answers: ‘Thom.’

That happened three weeks ago. In that time, she has regained most of her confidence. She’s glad for the freedom the boy’s companionship means. While the fumes of the cars are breath-taking in the wrong meaning of the word, the big park lined with dizzying skyscrapers absolutely causes the right one. 

When asked she’d say it’s her favourite place, though in her heart this is not true. Her favourite place is by the docks, cloaked by darkness with only the quiet moon and glittering skyline bearing witness. She would sing for her boy, carefully nurturing his ability to shift shapes.

It is in that exact place that she is now, praying no noisy mortals will disturb her. Loki chuckles when a thin tongue licks her cheek. Jör’s tiny head bumps into her neck. With determination gleaming in his poison-green eyes he squirms out of her embrace and splashes into the murky water. 

‘Jörmungandr!’ Loki sternly says, ‘Come right back up!’ Her son gives her a mischievous look as he swims further away from the edge. While she isn’t worried, there is no denying that winter has been unforgiving and that the ice floating on the surface poses a real threat if her son fails in maintaining his shift. 

The goddess stands up, her hands firmly on her hips as she lets her stern mom-tone bleed into her voice. ‘You can swim someplace else, in daylight.’ The shrill honking of a ship makes her wince, her ears not appreciating the loud sound. And judging from her son’s panicked movements, neither does he. ‘Come to me, Sweet’, she’s close to begging, hoping that the tone can get through to him.

But then green starts to spark from his body. Loki curses, diving into the water without hesitation. Her heart is racing so fast it feels like it’s beating out of her chest, adrenaline fuelling her every stroke. She’s not close enough to catch him, but she’s fast enough that he’s under for less than five seconds. Naked and screaming his little lungs out, she is struggling to keep her hold on him.

Swimming in her waterlogged skirts is a battle—a constant fight against being pulled into the depths of the Hudson. When she finally does manage to get back to where the dived in, she is faced by a wall that’s all but possible to climb. She is panting with the effort of keeping both their heads above water and cursing herself for not thinking to bring a dagger.

‘Grab my hand!’

She can cry from the relief that a stranger has heard her plight. Looking up, eyes wide and fearful, she is faced by a scrawny kid. He doesn’t look like he will be able to lift her up, but using her magic means attracting the attention of Heimdall which she really doesn’t want to risk right now.

She already has used more than she should’ve.

‘Please get my son up first.’ Loki uses most of her remaining strength to push her boy upwards into the kid’s hands. Only after he has wrapped Jör in his threadbare jacket does she accept his helping hand. It takes them a couple of tries, but they do succeed in getting her onto the docks. They’re both panting as they lay on their backs.

Loki turns around onto her stomach, pushing herself into a sitting position with trembling arms before hugging her son close. ‘Thank you,’ she says, ‘I don’t know what would’ve happened if you weren’t around.’ Now that she has the time to get a proper look at him, she notices how he looks around her age would she have been mortal.

The boy awkwardly rubs the back of his neck, mirroring her cross-legged pose. ‘You’re welcome’, he says, voice trailing off.

‘My name is Lífdís, I haven’t been in New York all that long.’

He winces. ‘The war?’ His eyes flicker over to her son, but he doesn’t ask any questions, or look at her with judgement nor pity.

It is refreshing.

‘My name is Steve,’ he then says, ‘I’ve been born and raised in Brooklyn.’ 

They sit together until Jörmungandr starts to shiver. Like a true gentleman, Steve offers to walk her home. Their conversation is easy, she finds him surprisingly charming in his awkwardness. Despite only knowing him for an hour, the goddess is sure that this boy has a heart of gold.

He makes her feel welcome.

At her doorstep, they look at each other for a couple of long moments. Loki feels like a teenager all over again, and against all her expectations she doesn’t hate it. ‘Thank you again, Steve. We should meet up again sometime soon.’ For another second, she hesitates before leaning forward and quickly placing a peck on his cheek.

She bites her lip as she darts inside, waving at him before she closes the door. In the living room, Vivian is waiting for her with crossed arms. ‘Do you know what time it is, young lady?’ But once she sees her bedraggled state, the elderly woman goes in full fussing mode.

Loki lets her do her think, continuously distracted by the boy she met today. The _what-ifs_ glide through her mind and for the first time since arriving on earth, she dares to dream.


End file.
